In case this little story should fall into the hands of any woman who
has spent her time working for the men at the Front, I would like to
tell her the great pleasure it is to them to receive parcels, no matter
what they contain. Fraternity and Equality reign supreme in the
trenches, and the man counts himself happy who receives a little
more than the others, since he has the joy and the pleasure of
sharing his store of good things with his comrades. There is
seldom a request made to the French behind the lines that they do
not attempt to fulfil. I remember last winter, passing through a town
in the provinces, I noticed that the elderly men appeared to be
scantily clad in spite of the bitterness of the weather. It appeared
that the call had gone forth for fur coats for the troops, and all the
worthy citizens of the town forwarded to the trenches their caracul
coats. Only those who are well acquainted with French provincial
life can know what it means to them to part with these signs of
opulence and commercial success.

It is perhaps in the Post Offices that you find yourself nearest to
the heart of "France behind the lines."

One morning I endeavoured to send a parcel to a French soldier. I
took my place in a long line of waiting women bound on the same
errand. A white-haired woman before me gave the Post Office
Clerk infinite trouble. They are not renowned for their patience and
I marvelled at his gentleness until he explained. "Her son died five
weeks ago, but she still continues to send him parcels."

To another old lady he pointed out that she had written two
numbers on the parcel. "You don't want two numbers, Mother.